THE ETERNAL COURSE. BONUS CHAPTER. A DAY IN THE LIFE OF CLARA KENT

A DAY IN SEPTEMBER 1948

04:20 (GMT-5) SUMATRA, INDONESIA

Diah didn't know what time it was in Metropolis. She thought about it every time she came back from the typing school while she checked again and again the Dutch magazine that had fallen into her hands. She was truly fond of that magazine, which featured the remarkable adventures of Superwoman—the incredible woman in a red cape who performed countless rescues and marvelous deeds. Her parents did not like the clothes of the flying lady. Aditya told her that Superwoman could shoot lightning and fire out of her eyes. Several people in Jakarta had seen her. Her friend Endah thought that she was a lying demon, and that demons liked nothing better than to take the form of a lovely woman. Kusno, the doctor's son, claimed to have seen her flying through the sky as he traveled by boat between Java and Sumatra. For a long time, she had wished to cross paths with Superwoman and see her at last, knowing that the superheroine had been to many places in Indonesia to aid people during fires, typhoons, or outbreaks of violence, but nothing had ever happened in her small town…until now that Diah prayed and prayed that the Woman of Steel would appear and help them.

The typhoon hit hard and unexpectedly. Her parents had invited their neighbors and cousins to stay in their brick house, which was raised slightly off the ground in case of flooding. There were nearly twenty people in their small house. If the storm continued, there would soon be none. The wind had taken away the second floor with its tin roof, and bricks had poured down the stairs. Outside they could hear a terrible wind and a steady rain. Water was coming in through the doors and boarded windows, up to their knees. About twenty people, including eight children, were shivering, and sitting on the table or sofa. Diah and her father struggled to keep boards nailed to the window. Through a crack, even though the wind and water hurt her, she could see the water from the river overflowing and the tide outside the house almost reaching the windows. As soon as the water level rose a little, the water would knock down the boards and the wall would give way. It would be the end. Diah tried to hold back her tears and continued to help her father.

From the stairs, which they knew would lead nowhere, water continued to fall in torrents. And a howling wind that sounded like the roar of a monster. That's why Diah didn't hear the footsteps. She didn't turn around until she heard a murmur of astonishment and a muffled scream. It couldn't be her. There she was. It was her. The wonderful woman came down the stairs almost sheepishly, smiling. Her hair was soaked, but she was much prettier and stronger than in the pictures in the magazine... which had now flown upstairs with all her stuff, along with the typing manual. Her outfit was bright red and blue, it didn't look wet. She looked like a goddess from ancient legends. And there she was, on her house's stairs.

She spoke to them in knotty Dutch that no one understood but Diah and her father a little.

"I Help...I take you shelter in hill!"

Diah nodded; her eyes were filled with tears of emotion. The wonderful woman in the red cape smiled back at her and walked over to the children, picking two up in her arms and disappearing in a second, leaving a red and blue blur. She appeared and disappeared, picking up Diah's siblings and cousins, her grandmother and aunt, then her.

"Hang on!"

Diah felt herself wrapped in a red cape and transported through a kind of blurry tunnel that hurt her eyes. Suddenly she felt herself being set down on the floor of the school on the hill, which was brick built and far from the river. The building was crowded with people. She looked around for all her family members, and there they were, still surprised and relieved. Then the wonderful woman appeared with her father. Diah ran to her with one of the five sentences she knew in English.

"Thank you! Thank You! Thank you!"

The woman in the red cape smiled at her and squeezed her arm affectionately before disappearing.

"Look!"

Through the window they could see the wonderful woman in her red cape flying through the air, bringing tin roofs and metal plates that she placed on the windows to protect them from the wind. Diah managed to gaze through a crack in the window. The woman flew into the sky and seemed to be flying in circles at full speed, creating tornadoes high above them, something she had never imagined. Diah saw red lights and fire in the whirlwinds. She could see them near but also far away. The spectacle was incredible, it lasted for a few minutes…then the rain began to subside and so did the wind.

She proudly approached Endah, who was frightened and covered up with a blanket next to her parents.

"See, Superwoman is no demon!"

06.33 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Clara landed on the roof of her tenement and opened the glass cellar door. It was starting to get light. She had chosen to rent that specific apartment, despite its small size and outdated style (and a barely functioning shower), because it was the only place within her budget that also had a roof opening she could use discreetly.

The Maid of Might descended gently. Krypto woke up, gave two soft barks and jumped on her. Clara stroked him lovingly. The dog went back to sleep on his pillow. She went into the bathroom and looked herself in the mirror. Her Superwoman outfit was spotless and shiny as ever. Any dirt that fell on her suit came off easily as it flew off at the slightest speed, but she was a mess. Her naturally slightly curly hair was all tousled and dirty. She had sand and mud behind her ears. How much work the hurricanes and typhoons were giving her! She took off her Superwoman outfit, which looked like a strange and colored second skin, and had a quick shower. In just a few seconds, she prepared her office attire: a light pink suit, a white shirt, a light blue silk scarf, and a small pink hat to match the suit. The beige coat didn't quite go with the outfit, but since she only had three coats, she had to be mindful of her wardrobe.

The truth was that Clara Kent had lost many clothes since becoming Superwoman, especially considering how expensive it was to dress like a serious journalist in Metropolis. At the very least, she had lost a dozen office outfits, four pairs of glasses, three coats, including an expensive light blue one Louis had given her, and two or three purses. But considering that she changed from Clara Kent to Superwoman twenty or thirty times a day (she once counted fifty in a single day), perhaps her clothing retention rate was a success. Still, it was a lot of money. Usually, when the call of duty caught her at home or on the Daily Planet, Clara could take off her clothes and store them in a safe place. At the Daily Planet, she often used the file or storage rooms. But when the urge to become her alter ego caught her on the street or in a less familiar place, things were more difficult. First, she would leave her clothes and purse in a mess, hidden anywhere: in the false ceiling of a phone booth, on a ledge, on a rooftop, on a fire escape, behind a toilet cistern, even under a car. She had lost many clothes in this way. Other clothes she had lost because of her nerves, her fear, or her carelessness while transforming: she had torn them with her super-strength or disintegrated them while flying at super-speed. A year after Clara started flying as Superwoman, she found a system: she always carried a stretchable military canvas bag in her purse, in which she put all her civilian clothes and her purse when she transformed, then hid it discreetly at super speed on the nearest rooftop or in any corner she could think of. Since then, she'd lost fewer clothes, except for the light blue coat she loved which she couldn't remember how she'd lost. She rarely carried cash, and as Clara Kent she always hid her identification documents in a discreet, barely visible compartment on the right leg of her Superwoman costume; if someone found the bag with all her things, they could never link it to Clara Kent, but so far that hadn't happened.

Clara always wore the Superwoman outfit under her everyday clothes. It was so thin and comfortable that she hardly noticed it. And the sleeves and cape could be folded up perfectly with almost no bulk, so no one would detect she was wearing it underneath. If she wanted to wear a short dress, all she had to do was fold it up and wrap it around her stomach and waist. Sometimes she fantasized about Louis ripping her shirt apart with a snap, revealing the red and gold crest of the House of El on her chest and her blue tights.

Oh Louis, you stupid, stupid man…

Clara lay face down on the bed, aiming to get half an hour of sleep. She typically needed an hour of rest each day—sometimes more, sometimes less. That night, she had been busy with work across the globe. Clara estimated that she spent nearly 12 to 13 hours of her day as Superwoman in her red cape, an hour sleeping, and the remainder she tried to dedicate to her job (though she often lost half of that time to her superhero duties). Whatever time was left, she used it for company and reading, whether with Louis, visiting her mother in Smallville, walking Krypto, or grabbing a quick tea after work with Lucy and Jimmy.

With half-open eyes, Clara glanced at the four photographs on her bedside table. One was of her with her parents, taken when she was a tall, gawky teenager with awful glasses, standing on the porch of the Kent farmhouse. Another photo was from the newspaper, capturing a Christmas celebration in 1946. In it were Lucy, Jimmy, Ronald Troupe, Steve Lombard, Louis, and much to her annoyance, Katz and Cat Grant—but she liked the picture because she and Louis were looking at each other. There was also a picture from her graduation at Mary Ann Day Brown High School in Smallville, with Pete and Lana. Sometimes she felt a touch of melancholy or a hint of resentment that they ended up together, but they were both good people who had helped her a lot. Even though Pete never fully understood her origins and superpowers, Clara still considered them her friends, though they hardly spoke anymore. The largest photograph was of Louis, dedicated to her. They had exchanged signed photos at Christmas in 1946. She had given him a small studio portrait of herself in a hat and mink coat, though she didn't like it much—her glasses were a bit foggy, and she thought she looked silly. She had dedicated it: Gratefully for everything, Clara Josephine Kent to Louis Lane, December 1946. Louis had given her a picture of him in a tuxedo smoking a pipe: From Louis J. Lane to Clara J. Kent, wishing many years of absurd arguments along with you.

What am I going to do with you, Louis, how difficult everything is.

She postponed the alarm to sleep, even if it was three-quarters of an hour instead of thirty minutes. Another day of work awaited her.

07.50 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Frankie "Consti" Costanzelli sighed in the elevator as his colleagues discussed the strike with the building surveyor. It was inevitable that a strike would be called against the construction company for failing to comply with arbitration awards and for being almost five months behind in wages due to inflation. It wasn't stupid, $20 or $30 more a month would change a lot of things. Consti did the math in his head, the cost of his daughter's wedding, the car payment...the car that his idiot little son was driving too much of...Well, he had survived the Great Depression, those times were really terrible. A whole year and a half out of work, doing odd jobs. He and Sarah almost emigrated to California.

The surveyor went on.

"If there's a strike, even though I'm not unionized, of course I'll go on strike with you, but I know the company's numbers. A two- or three-day strike will force them to negotiate. But you can only ask for half of the back pay because the company has no more. The whole labor budget is out of balance. They told me upstairs."

"This is the company's problem, not ours," Sabisch insisted. To Consti, Sabisch was a bit of an agitator and too young to understand how the union and negotiations worked.

The elevator doors opened, and they found themselves facing the ramshackle floor of the skyscraper, the bare beams, the fences...they were building the Hudson Tower, which would join the Empire State Building and the TELCORP Tower on the Metropolis podium. Consti had always been proud of the buildings he had worked on as a foreman.

The surveyor stood beside him.

"I still don't understand how we managed to keep these things standing."

Consti squealed.

"Chief, if you don't understand, we're in bad trouble because you're the construction manager."

The surveyor laughed.

"I mean... I understand the laws of physics, but sometimes they seem crazy to me."

"I feel sorry for you. I couldn't care less about the laws of physics. There's a flying woman who defies them a little bit."

Every day they saw Superwoman flying back and forth. Sometimes she looked like a bird or a plane, sometimes she was just a red and blue blur, many other times they had seen her pass by very close and she had waved back at them effusively. Consti couldn't get used to it. It seemed like something completely magical and crazy. But whoever she was, she was a good girl, and she was helping, even if Sabisch said she could become a "tool of oppression". Get back to your books, Sabisch, kiddo.

Ollie Bruce approached him. They had worked together on the same work crews for over twenty years. They were good friends and neighbors. When they first started working, they were put on separate crews because Ollie was black and he was white, but fortunately that was a thing of the past. At least on Metropolis.

"Consti, it was very windy tonight, the new beams were half riveted. I think some bracing needs to be done. I'll tell the surveyor."

"It's still a little windy, but no big deal. I agree it's what we must do. We've seen worse things."

Consti, Ollie, the surveyor and four other workers put on their helmets, harnesses and approached the last beam. Consti and the surveyor made a small jump, and the beam vibrated.

"This is a piece of shit."

In front of them, the crane was manipulating another beam that was swinging too much in the wind.

"Hey, what's that idiot doing?" Consti shouted.

"Thompson, who's on the crane? Harris or Snopek? Tell him to stop being an asshole. You can't use the crane in this wind," The surveyor's voice rose in anger.

The wind had picked up, drowning out the voices. The beam supporting the crane swung closer and closer.

"Idiot! Move it!"

"Let's get out of here."

The six men tried to cautiously file back to the safety of the platform, but the dangling beam struck the corner of the beam where they were standing. The beam shook and creaked. Consti watched in horror as the surveyor and Ollie fell into the void. Barely a second later, the beam gave way and he and the others fell to the ground.

Consti fell face up, for a split second feeling a strange relief at not seeing the ground, and for another he thought of his daughter and her wedding. Then he saw, or rather felt, a flash of red and blue light and soft arms that also only lasted a split second. He felt a huge tidal sensation, as if the world was spinning, and then he was gently lowered to the cold ground. Above, he saw the huge metal beam falling towards him at full speed. But then a figure wrapped in a shiny red cape seemed to slow it down and grab it. The beam gave off a huge metallic vibration and seemed to bend. The figure in the red cape began to descend, holding the huge beam with a single arm. She landed a few feet away from them and set the beam on the ground. The caped woman let out a huge sigh. For the first time, Consti looked to his sides; his five companions, including Ollie and the surveyor, were all safe and rising from the ground.

Superwoman approached them.

"Are you all okay?"

They all nodded shyly.

"Thank you, Superwoman," Ollie muttered.

"No one needs a ride to the hospital? I don't think anyone's broken anything. You shouldn't be working with the crane in this weather," Superwoman said seriously, but with a slight smile.

Consti kept feeling his chest to make sure he was in one piece. Superwoman approached him and held out a helmet in a very friendly voice.

"I think your helmet came off Sir, here it is."

Consti looked at her. She was an enormously kind, blue-eyed beauty.

"Thank you, Miss El."

"Thank you for calling me Miss El! I really don't like being called Superwoman at all...," the superheroine lowered her voice and told him in an accomplice voice. Then she walked away.

"Be very careful, I always try to be around, but please be careful and have a nice day," the woman in the red cape shouted as she slowly levitated...then she soared into the sky at full speed, making a deafening noise like a balloon popping.

08.45 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Jimmy Olsen was pouring coffee from a thermos to the people around the table where sports reporter Steve Lombard III, twirling his mustache, was describing a baseball game.

"And the idiot batter screwed up his last strike by looking up while Superwoman was flying…"

"OK, now we know Superwoman hates the Mets," Ronald Troupe joked.

"I don't think Superwoman has ever thought about the Mets," Lucy Weiss countered acidly.

"Have you seen the new joint defense organization of France, England, Netherlands and Belgium?" Clara Kent interrupted the conversation.

"I'm sure Mailer and Cat would be happy to discuss it with you, Clarybelle," Lombard replied dismissively.

Clara glared at Steve Lombard from behind her thick round eyeglasses. Lombard stubbornly kept calling her Clarybelle and trying to take her out to dinner. She always refused, except one time when she wanted to make Louis jealous, but it was a disaster. Lombard was a presumptuous idiot.

"Now that you mention them, they also want to discuss your friendships with you," Clara inquired mischievously.

Lombard laughed loudly.

"Clarybelle, my dear, people make friends in baseball or football without having the slightest idea who they're talking to. Mailer, in just one evening in his neighborhood, has probably sat with more mobsters than I have in my entire life."

Jimmy noticed Clara's hostile look and smiled at her. She smiled back and rolled her eyes as if to say, "I know Lombard's an idiot".

Louis Lane walked out of the office he shared with Clara and leaned against the door. As always, he was impeccably dressed in a blue-gray double-breasted suit and a dark green tie. Jimmy noticed Louis and Clara searching each other's eyes.

"Lombard, be careful, every day you sit with these people you are closer to being victim of a police raid...or worse, a Superwoman raid," Louis said in a jovial tone.

"I would love to be arrested by that flying beauty, Louis, I should learn to put myself in real danger like you do," Lombard replied.

Clara continued to look at Louis, whose expression had become more somber.

"I stumbled only once," Louis replied, now with false sympathy.

Jimmy could see Clara's eyes narrow as if in disbelief at Louis' words. Lombard took a sip from his coffee cup and continued to ruminate.

"She's a beautiful, Superwoman, but she's still a woman...Imagine a being with that much power during a period of hysteria or with the ups and downs you ladies have," Lombard tried to give Clara an attractive smile.

"For whatever reason, Superwoman saves the world every day without a problem, and she is a woman while Adolf Hitler was a man," Lucy Weiss replied playfully.

"You can do better than that, really it was a poor answer," Lombard countered.

Louis sighed.

"She's not a human woman, so whatever her feelings, desires and faults are, they won't have much to do with ours. Don't worry...or rather...worry very, very much," Louis began to laugh at his joke, but Clara looked at him almost angrily.

"Coffee, Mr. Lane?" Jimmy asked.

"No thanks, just cold drinks as usual," Louis smiled.

"Can I get you a nice scotch? Lombard joked.

"Give me an hour and a half to acclimate."

Louis approached Clara and gently took her arm in an affectionate gesture. Everyone watched the scene with some surprise—Louis was never affectionate with anyone. Yet, with Clara, he always showed an unusual closeness, and she responded in the same way... although that day, she seemed upset.

"When are you leaving for the orphanage?" Louis asked.

"In half an hour," Clara answered in a low voice.

"Are you going to adopt a child?" Lombard asked amazed.

"No, I'm going to write an article on a real estate developer who wants to evict an orphanage with seventy children."

"Classic Clara Kent piece," Lombard replied.

"Do you have time for us to look at something from yesterday's bum raid that Jimmy photographed?" Louis asked.

"A bum raid?"

Jimmy interjected.

"Yes, Miss Kent, last night, surprisingly. They hadn't done that in five years. They took homeless people off the streets."

"Someone from the newsroom should accompany you on your nightly forays, Jimmy, it can't be that no one can write about last night's story now. Can you tell Clara briefly what you saw so she can type it up? Clara, if you can please stop by the police station this afternoon and confirm the story…We should get an article out for tomorrow."

"Of course," Clara said, adjusting her glasses.

"This mayor doesn't know what to do to win the elections, he's unbearable," Louis sighed.

Jimmy watched as Clara affectionately took Louis' arm and whispered tenderly in his ear, "You're not going to have a whiskey now, are you?", "No, don't worry, it was just a joke," Louis replied. "Okie dokie, a joke... but don't even think about touching a glass," she added, her tone playful yet firm.

The three of them entered Louis and Clara's office. Louis took off his jacket.

"Well Olsen, unwrap your story… Clara after lunch you must go to the police station. This takes priority over the orphanage, at least for this week."

Clara sat down at the typewriter and winked at him.

11.20 (GMT-5) OUTSKIRTS OF CHICAGO

The criminals were getting more and more fucked up and original. Agent Hallam thought about it as he readied his weapon. The road narrowed. Five police cars were chasing two vans, now several hundred yards ahead of them, from which occasional shots were being fired.

The Bat seemed to be a Gotham thing, though he occasionally appeared elsewhere. However, ever since Superwoman, the woman in the red cape, and Flash, the scarlet speedster from Chicago, had arrived, crime had dropped dramatically. Yet, those criminals who remained had become more violent, more cunning, their plans more intricate. The new breed of criminals operated quietly, using guns with silencers, planting bombs at one end of the city while carrying out their schemes elsewhere. They took hostages and used human shields in eerie silence. Their methods were always about avoiding noise, evading alarms, and sometimes resorting to extreme violence. The police and the three superheroes had filled the prisons, but every now and then, real madmen—like the ones they were now pursuing—would emerge.

Hallam wasn't entirely sure what the story was, but apparently, some bastards had been quietly taking civilian hostages, one by one, in different parts of the city early that morning. They had posed as gold or diamond buyers and lured the hostages into Chicago's main bank. Using pistols with silencers, they managed to either get the guards to surrender or shoot them. Not a sound, not a scream, not a loud shot. Whoever they were, they knew the bank's alarm system. Two tons of gold. They fled, leaving two dead, six wounded, and taking five hostages. The police found out too late. Superwoman and the Flash hadn't heard about it, or they were otherwise occupied. By some miracle, the police spotted the vans and were now in pursuit.

Hallam preferred the speedster, Flash. He seemed more normal. In the end, Flash was a friendly man who just ran incredibly fast and was somewhat strong—but not too strong—almost human. Hallam distrusted Superwoman. Too powerful, flying, too many superpowers. His partner, Kowalsky, laughed and claimed Hallam mistrusted her because she was a woman. That wasn't true. If there were such a powerful man, Hallam thought, he would feel the same way.

Hallam was in the car closest to the vans. So far, they hadn't taken any bullets. Carefully, he drew his pistol and began firing at the vans' wheels ahead of him. He had no idea how they were going to rescue the hostages. Lieutenant Morrison's car passed them. The lieutenant, their boss, had opened the door and was standing on the running board, firing at the vans non-stop. To their shock, the back door of one of the vans burst open with a bang. Two gangsters appeared, loading a heavy machine gun, while a third gunman held a pistol to the head of a woman—a hostage. What in heaven…

The machine gun roared to life, spraying bullets as the police cars swerved wildly to avoid the fire. Hallam ducked beneath the dashboard just as the car window shattered, shards flying everywhere. A scream of pain cut through the chaos—Lt. Morrison. Hallam saw him thrown from the running board, tumbling onto the asphalt. Panic surged through him. Was Morrison dead? One of the gangsters grabbed a megaphone, his voice booming over the gunfire. "Stop, or this woman dies!" More bullets from the machine gun tore through the air, and two police cars skidded to a halt, disabled. Hallam had no idea if the lieutenant was still alive. Beside him, Kowalsky hunched low, barely managing to steer with his head ducked beneath the wheel. Hallam risked a glance, lifting his head just enough to take aim. He fired at the van as the gangsters hurried to reload their machine gun. "Fucking bastards," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, a red and blue blur flashed across his vision, faster than he could comprehend. The woman hostage vanished from the van in an instant, and the gangster who had held a gun to her head was flung violently to the roadside. At nearly the same moment, the machine gun disintegrated mid-air, shredded by a searing heat beam. The two vans were now engulfed by a whirlwind of red and blue—a blur moving too fast to track. The drivers were yanked from their seats and sent flying. Two more men with rifles tumbled out of the van, scrambling to their feet. They raised their weapons, aiming at Hallam's car, but before they could fire, something unseen slammed them into the ground. Kowalsky fought to regain control of the car, desperately trying to brake before they collided with the now driverless van, which careened wildly, spinning out of control.

"We're going to crash!!!"

Hallam opened the door and was about to jump out when something slammed the door shut, pushing him inside. The car seemed to levitate swiftly just a couple of feet away before slamming into the van. Then it descended gently. A woman with tousled jet-black hair and deep blue eyes, wrapped in a red cape, appeared beside them.

"Are you all right, agents? I sincerely apologize for the delay."

Superwoman's voice sounded afflicted. From the rest of the police cars, the other agents got out and ran to the vans. The criminals writhed on the ground as the policemen slapped handcuffs on them A couple of robbers tried to flee across the fields near the road, but Superwoman brought them back and threw them at the feet of the police. One criminal, who had been hiding in one of the two vans, tried to open fire, but Superwoman instantly snatched his rifle and split it in two before his eyes. Then, the Woman of Steel pulled the hostages from the vans and comforted them Two officers lifted Lieutenant Morris from the ground, bleeding profusely from one arm. Several gold ingots were scattered across the road. Hallam ran to his lieutenant.

"Lieutenant... how are you?"

"Damn it! I got two or three bullets in my arm," groaned the lieutenant.

Superwoman levitated gracefully upon them, her cape rippling as she hovered just above the ground.

"I'll get him to the hospital right away!" she announced. "Lieutenant, let me apply a tourniquet, and I'll take you to Chicago. I can have you at the hospital in two minutes... please, hand me your ties."

Without hesitation, Hallam pulled off his tie and handed it to the superheroine. She gently removed the lieutenant's tie as well, her hands moving swiftly yet carefully as she fashioned a tourniquet around the officer's wounded arm.

"Is anyone else hurt?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

One of the hostages, a woman, was sobbing uncontrollably. An officer knelt beside her, trying to console her, but her grief was overwhelming. Superwoman's eyes softened as she approached.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice low and gentle.

The officer spoke up. "Her son... she's terrified for her son. He was in the bank with her during the robbery. She fears he's hurt."

Hallam stepped in; his tone steady. "We haven't received any reports of injured children. I'm sure he's fine."

Superwoman knelt beside the crying mother, her presence exuding calm reassurance. "I'll take her to Chicago now, along with the lieutenant. She needs to be with her son as soon as possible."

Without wasting a moment, Superwoman gently took the woman's arm, then moved to the lieutenant, carefully grabbing his uninjured arm.

"I'm sorry I was late..." she said, her voice tinged with regret. "I had no way of knowing... Please, forgive me. I'll do everything I can to ensure this doesn't happen again."

With that, Superwoman lifted them both effortlessly into the air, soaring into the sky. Within seconds, they were gone, vanishing into the firmament at unimaginable speed, leaving only a faint gust of wind in their wake.

Hallam looked at the two vans with the doors open and the gold scattered ingots, the four hostages still terrified and eight criminals in custody, some slightly injured.

What a hellish morning.

Kowalsky tapped him on the shoulder.

"It could have been a lot worse, we got them...and the hostages are safe."

"Fucking crazy bastards."

"Thank God for that woman."

Hallam nodded with a sigh.

13.00 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Louis drummed his fingers on the table as he drained his glass of Spanish white wine. The Chalet Suisse was an elegant but discreet restaurant. An elegant couple, whose names Louis couldn't remember but who were very close to Senator Ives, greeted him by raising their glasses and Louis returned the gesture.

"PARDON ME, LOUIS"

Clara's almost shouting voice startled him. He stood up immediately. There was Clara, almost sweating, with her handbag, her everlasting notebook, and her foggy glasses.

"Don't worry, my dear."

"I'm half an hour late! Forgive me, my morning schedule has collapsed."

Louis smiled warmly at her while he noticed a tender look on the journalist's blue eyes. Louis took off her coat and told the waiter to take it to the checkroom.

"Wine?"

"Louis...I never drink."

"Well, I hope you'll try a drop sometime."

"Sparkling water."

Louis motioned to the waiter and ordered another glass of wine and a sparkling water.

"I'll have a Wiener schnitzel with truffles, and you?" Louis started.

"I don't know, I think I'm in the mood for some fried vegetables."

"Whatever you prefer. How was the orphanage?"

Clara twisted her face.

"Too emotional?" Louis asked again.

Clara sighed and looked wistful.

"They're great kids...and their teachers and caretakers do a great job with them. It's a dirty trick what they want to do to them, a real dirty trick."

"The mayor's office says there are plenty of slots in other orphanages and it's okay to kick them out."

"Louis, they are used to this place, they have their teachers, their routines...it is their home for most of them, unfortunately. It's a shame they want to kick them out."

Louis took her hand.

"Let's go after the mayor for this. The developer they gave the building to is Bert Allen, a historical donor to these people's campaigns."

"I did a little research... Bert Allen's partner is a donor to the other party and a classmate of Norris, the opposition candidate."

"Don't look at me, I'm voting for the maverick conservative who's barely getting 15% in the polls. Both the mayor and Norris look like a pain in the ass to me." Louis shrugged.

Clara sighed again.

"Poor kids..."

Louis took her hand again.

"Write a good article, it's the best we can do for them. Let's scare the mayor and the donors. One of the two candidates would have to promise not to touch the orphanage, and the election is close."

"The kids asked me if we could contact Superwoman."

Louis laughed cynically.

"Clara, dear, regarding this issue we can do a lot more for them than Superwoman can."

Clara smiled at him.

They ate in silence. Clara looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"So... How is the campaign going?"

"Mmm... it's going to be close."

"Are you tense, Louis?"

"Quite."

"In a few months it will be over, fortunately..."

"You look a little sad, Clara, are you fine?"

"Yes, of course."

"Are you really fine?"

"Yes... I just went through some situations this morning that..."

 "Emotional..."

"No, tough situations, Louis, tough."

"This city sucks... but any European capital is worse today."

"The city doesn't suck, that's not what I meant."

Louis tried to strike a jovial tone.

"Well, Clara, we're leaving for Innsmouth the weekend after the election."

Clara blushed and looked down at the floor.

"I want to book two rooms for our upcoming "talk and walk", so we don't run out of good hotels," Louis continued.

"But you always say there will be no one this time of year!"

Louis made a silly clownish gesture and smiled at Clara.

"Yes, I'd go this weekend if it were up to me," Clara finally replied.

"Clara, let's wait until the campaign is over."

There was a tense silence between them.

"Emily, how is she?" Clara asked, trying to change the subject.

"She's very well."

"She's still in her Superwoman fan phase?"

"Yes, she won't take off her red cape even to go outside or sleeping."

Louis noticed a slight twinkle in Clara's eyes.

"Well, that's normal..."

"Yes, I suppose it is. She's a six-year-old girl."

"And Pat?"

Louis was slow to answer.

"She's fine. Pat is great. The events of the world don't pass her by. Nothing upsets her. She is the perfect stoic. She has reached the total intersection of Epicureanism and Stoicism. She should write a book on philosophy," Louis said in an ironic tone that carried a certain bitterness.

"Was she always like that?"

"Yes, it's her main charm."

Clara looked down at her plate. Louis took her hand again.

"Don't think about her."

"Which police station should I go to about the bum raid last night?" Clara asked, trying once again to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Jimmy said it went down all over the financial district and Hell's Kitchen," the response came quickly. "You'll have to check in with all three stations in the area to get started."

"If they'll even listen to me at any of them..." Clara muttered, her frustration evident. "What do you think they did with the homeless?"

"Probably rounded them up, shoved them onto trains to New Jersey or Philadelphia, or dumped them in shelters—and some, no doubt, ended up in holding cells. It's all just a farce by the city government, pretending the mayor's handling things when, let's be honest, Superwoman's doing most of the heavy lifting." "Superwoman only volunteers for public order and first aid," Clara countered seriously.

Louis laughed loudly, and several guests at other tables turned to them.

"I have never heard anyone describe Superwoman's activities so amusingly...anyways."

Louis called the waiter back and asked about desserts.

"...and we have our special dessert for the third anniversary of the presence in Metropolis of our dear Superheroine, the Superwoman Blueberry and Raspberry Cake."

"Uh, the name disgusts me, but the flavors really appeal to me...how about you Clara?"

Clara had a certain tired look in her eyes...

15.20 (GMT-5) BERLIN

Ullrich moved cautiously along the narrow windowsill, his steps deliberate, trying to control his breath. Just around the corner, there was an open window in the adjacent section of the building—his way in. From there, he could make a dash for the rooftop. Behind him, the old woman, her voice cracking with desperation, wailed for help from the very window he had just climbed out of. Her cries were relentless, echoing in the night. He hadn't harmed her. He never would. Ullrich had only brandished the knife to scare her, and the sight of it had been enough to break her down into sobs. The jewelry he had taken was worthless—a few old, forgotten trinkets. But he needed it.

Pressing himself against the crumbling wall, he inched forward, careful not to look down. Five stories high—one of the few buildings left standing at this height in Berlin's war-torn streets. He needed to reach the Soviet zone within the hour, where Arno waited for the loot from this robbery and the previous one. In exchange, Arno would secure him and his brother two or three more days of food, and maybe—just maybe—a warm mattress to sleep on.

The night was cold and dark. Almost the whole city was in darkness. During the last hour he had seen the flying American lady several times, carrying huge containers on her shoulders. Ullrich counted the hundreds of planes that supplied the western area every day and the number of different containers that Superwoman carried. Arno said that breaking the blockade was bad business for them. Ullrich didn't care. He didn't care about a lot of things, he just wanted to make sure he and his brother were safe. Superwoman brought in two dozen huge containers a day, much larger than the planes, the size of small ships... But where was this woman when his parents were killed in a bombing raid? And where was she when the Germans did those terrible things that Arno claimed were lies, but Ullrich suspected were true? To hell with the flying woman, the Russians, the Americans, Arno, the English, the French, the rest of the Germans, the old woman crying over the jewelry he had stolen... Ullrich only cared about his brother Jonas, who was barely ten years old.

The front wall was frozen, he felt cold in his chest. He tightly clutched the cloth bag with the jewelry, ignoring the old woman's screams. But to his misfortune he soon heard whistling and murmuring in the street, kaput. Three auxiliary policemen and a French officer tooted on their whistles and ordered him to stop as they entered the building. Go to hell, you bastards. A few more meters and Ullrich would enter through the other window, he would have to run fast to get to the roof before the cops. One more step, two steps even. But he slipped. He had never slipped before. The second step he took was misjudged and he slipped. Ullrich couldn't hold on to anything on the cold, smooth wall and he fell into the void, kaput.

Ullrich then felt himself embraced from behind and a bright red cape wrapped around him. The police were still whistling and yelling. He was still floating, but somebody stopped hugging him and moved on to grab him by the neck.

"For God's sake! You are a kid!"

The woman was screaming in English, but he more or less understood. Ullrich found himself face to face with the damn flying woman holding him in the air. He felt a strange sensation because she had beautiful blue eyes and a very pretty face...she looked like a movie star. She was wearing the famous red and blue strange caped outfit with a red and gold "S" on her chest.

The woman gently flew over and dropped him on a rooftop several blocks away.

"Give me the jewels," The flying woman spoke good German.

"No," Ullrich replied firmly. The woman grabbed his shoulder. He felt a quick pinch in his hand, and without noticing when or how, the woman in the red cape held the cloth bag in her hand and looked at him sadly.

"Stay here, I want to help you, please...I'll return this to its owner, and then we'll talk."

The woman walked away, and Ullrich yelled a "go to hell, bitch" in English so the damn woman could hear him as he jumped to the other rooftop.

He was already in the other building when he felt his arm being grabbed.

"Please...," the woman said again in German.

"Leave me alone! Why don't you turn me over to the police?"

"You are a child! Why are you doing this? Where are your parents?"

Ullrich laughed mockingly.

"Why am I doing this? Where are my parents? Look around you, you bastard. Stupid."

Superwoman looked at him sadly.

"No need for insults...I want to help you; I won't turn you over to the police...Do you want me to take you to a shelter?"

"A shelter! Fuck you! You fucked me up good! Because of you, Arno is going to kick me and my brother out tonight! I'm fucked!"

"You have a brother? Where is he? Who's going to kick you out? Who is this Arno?"

Ulrich wanted to burst into tears, but he looked defiantly at the woman, her red cape was floating in the cold light breeze. Her arms were crossed, and she looked at him with sadness and understanding, like a mother.

"Tell me," The woman insisted.

"Arno is my boss...I must bring him things...and he lets me, and my brother…and more children sleep in a warm building. He feeds us. We must work for him. If you fail and he doesn't throw you out, he gives you to the Soviet police, who put you in terrible orphanages."

"Do you live in the Soviet zone?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about your brother, and Arno. What's your name?"

Reluctantly but deeply captivated, Ullrich shared his entire backstory with her, beginning from the loss of his parents. He detailed how he cared for his brother, how they were discovered by Arno who then enlisted them for minor thefts, sales, and courier tasks. Ullrich described Arno as a smuggler operating across all the occupied territories, adept at bribing officials. He revealed the location from where Arno conducted his illicit activities, including how he involved children and nurses in stealing morphine. Ullrich didn't spare the grim details of what happened to some teenage girls Arno had taken in under the guise of providing shelter. Above all, Ullrich expressed his desire for safety for himself and his brother, mentioning they had an aunt in Stuttgart but were unable to leave Berlin. As he spoke, Superwoman listened with a mixture of sadness and anger in her blue eyes.

"I'll tell you what, Ullrich...let's go see the Army Chief of the American Zone. Now he knows me and trusts me. Let's go get your brother and I'll take you both to him, put you in a safe place so the army will send you to Stuttgart. The general will do it as a personal favor. In return, you will tell him everything you know about Arno and his crimes, and where he does what he does, so that he can be stopped."

The woman spoke to him kindly, she almost convinced him, but then Ullrich looked at her carefully... Who the hell was she? And why should the occupying authorities care about him? It was all the same, he could end up sleeping on the street again. If they arrested Arno, he would easily discover who was the whistleblower...Arno would be out of jail in no time and could do something terrible to him and his brother. No, kaput.

"No, leave me alone."

"But you said Arno would throw you out..."

"I'll be fine, I'll manage it."

"Let me help you."

"No, I don't trust you, and they'll probably separate me and my brother. He'll be sent God knows where, and I'm almost of age. No, I'd rather make it on my own."

Superwoman tried to smile at him, but a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I'll tell you what. Let's go to the Soviet Zone right now and get your brother. I'll take you back to the American headquarters. You'll tell Arno's story, and then I'll fly you to Stuttgart tonight myself. We will look for your aunt, or I will leave you there with the authorities. They would not send you back to Berlin and you would be safe from Arno no matter what." She insisted.

Ullrich thought about it for a while...and then nodded in approbation. The woman gave him a big smile in return. She grabbed him by his arm.

"Hold tight! Let's go! Up, up and away!"

18.19 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Night had already settled over Metropolis, the city's lights flickering on as the last traces of daylight faded. The wind had stilled, leaving the air calm and heavy. Clara gathered her belongings in the quiet office, the hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the silence. Maybe, just maybe, she could head home and finally rest—or even fly to Smallville for a change of pace. Then again, maybe not. She always preferred to take the bus or subway home, blending in like any other person trying to make their way through the city. But she didn't always have that luxury. There was too much to do, too many responsibilities that never waited for a moment of peace.

"Four eyes, you look tired today, you look like you have six eyes," Bob Mailer's bitter voice sounded behind her.

"Hi Bob, good to see you too."

"What are you doing here so late? "

"It took the police station a while to get back to me about the bum raid last night, I had to finish the article for tomorrow's edition..."

"Oh, that's right, I heard something. The drunken Irishman who rules us is incapable of not doing funny things with the police."

"You could try, just try, not to make horrible comments about people and your prejudices. At least not all the time." Clara sighed.

"The mayor is Irish, isn't he? And he's a drunkard, right? Those are two things that are true. For example, I'm a crazy Jew," Mailer seemed to laugh at his own witticism.

Lord, give me the strength not to throw him out the window, I can't handle him.

"Listen Cross-eyed Copy of Superwoman, I just got a call from McCormack." Mailer continued.

"McCormack?"

"Our correspondent in Berlin. The fat baboon."

"I know who our Berlin correspondent is."

"Listen, apparently there's a hell of a mess in Berlin."

"Uh," Clara turned around curiously, trying to hide a smile.

"Superwoman must've slipped into the Soviet Zone early this evening, rescuing a bunch of kids being exploited by some lowlifes and brought them over to the American Zone. Word is, she forced the hand of some smuggler—Soviet Zone scum—who our MPs claim they nabbed right in our zone, but now the Russians are howling mad, saying she smuggled the guy out of their territory. One hell of a mess, if you ask me. The top brass in Berlin? They're smitten with the red-caped dame. The general in charge swears the anti-blockade strategy would've crumbled without Superwoman, so it looks like he's returned the favor—agreed to get the kids out of the Soviet Zone and lock up that crook. Or so McCormack tells me. Here's the kicker, though: all this went down in the last three hours, and now the State Department's fit to be tied. They're ready to toss the general out a window."

Clara feigned a pout of approval.

"Berlin, Berlin! Oh, what trouble Berlin is!"

"Is that the smartest thing you Kansans can say?"

"Good night, Bob."

"Goodbye, six-eyes."

Clara put on her coat, gathered her things and took the elevator down, humming the song Stardust. Maybe she should go to a movie theater for a while, a double feature, although it was usually impossible for her to watch a whole movie without someone needing Superwoman elsewhere. She was just about to hurry out of the lobby when she felt a small pair of arms wrap around her waist. Startled, Clara turned.

"Clara!"

It was Emily, Louis' daughter—the little girl stood there in a light blue coat and matching cap, a red cape peeking out from beneath her coat. Clara's face lit up with enthusiasm as she knelt to greet her.

"Well, if it's Super-Emily!"

She and the little girl hugged.

"I'm going to the movies to see Bugs Bunny!"

"Oh, what fun! And what a beautiful red cape you're wearing!"

The little girl jumped up and stretched out her arm like Superwoman did when she took off. Clara turned to her right, a few steps away stood Louis with a slightly nervous smile, wearing his dark hat and coat. Next to him was Pat, looking at her with a kind of annoyance and indifference.

"Louis...Mrs. Lane...." Clara greeted them.

"Hello Clara dear, how are you?" Pat gave her an ethereal kiss on the cheek as she took her daughter by the hand.

"We had dinner with my parents and now we're going to the movies. We stopped by so Emily could say hello to Perry," Louis explained awkwardly.

"I finished the article on the bum raid and tomorrow's edition already has it." Clara answered

"Great, thank you for the effort."

"What happened to the tramps?" Pat asked with mock curiosity.

"Oh, the mayor mobilized the police yesterday to remove all the homeless from the financial center."

"Well, it took him a while to think of it, anyways let's hope Norris wins... Clara dear, Mason is a very good friend of the family, if you want to interview him or ask him anything, just tell me," Pat said casually.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not in charge of anything for the mayoral election...Although we might annoy him with an orphanage issue." Clara said lightly.

"Well Clara, we're late to the movies, thanks for finishing the raid article," Louis bowed his head sympathetically.

"Have fun with Bugs Bunny, Super-Emily!" said Clara, returning to give Louis' daughter a hug.

"Would you like to join us?" Pat asked her in an almost hostile tone. She was a very beautiful and above all very elegant woman. She was very thin and shorter than Louis and Clara, but she had caramel-colored eyes that were very famous. Clara had never gotten along with her, and she knew how difficult her marriage to Louis had been. It was strange to stand next to the woman she wanted to be taken away from Louis…What would she think? Lucy called her "Poisonous Doll."

"I'd love to, but I'm so tired, see you tomorrow, Louis," Clara bowed her head in farewell and slipped out before the Lane's left the building.

Pat and Louis walked wordlessly to a taxi, and before she got in, she inquired fiercely. "I don't care what you do, but I don't have to put up with her. She could refrain from greeting me or my daughter when I am present."

Louis ignored her.

"Look at the sky!" Emily screamed.

Between the skyscrapers, at medium altitude, a familiar figure was flying. Superwoman wasn't flying very fast; her red cape was clearly visible. This time she didn't look like a blur.

22.20 (GMT-5) ACROSS THE WORLD, METROPOLIS

Superwoman landed and gently lowered the ambulance to the ground. She had made five trips in an hour between this hospital in the Marshall Islands - the only one that could be called that - and Regina Dozier Hospital in Gotham City. On each trip she had carried two sick people in the ambulance at thousands of miles per minute, ten in all. Ten men, women and children suffering from the after-effects of radiation and disease caused by the U.S. military's nuclear tests one and two years earlier.

Professor Helena Bertinelli, a young doctor-and former nun-from Gotham, had been coordinating medical aid for the many sick from the aftermath of the explosions. She had tried to get the attention of the world's press, but no one had listened. Despite her repeated letters to the Vatican, assisted by two Jesuit missionaries from the islands, no one had raised a voice. Finally, a Jesuit went to tell the story to Louis, who immediately wrote an article. Bruce Wayne knew of Bertinelli indirectly. The young Gotham doctor had suffered a traumatic childhood: her father - a gangster - and her mother had been brutally murdered nearly two decades earlier. The Wayne Foundation offered to pay for the treatment of the most seriously injured at Gotham's Regina Dozier Hospital. There remained the problem of relocation; the most seriously ill would not survive a boat ride from the Marshall Islands to Gotham. Clara read about it in Louis' article, and Bruce absentmindedly commented on the issue to her. A few days later, Superwoman appeared hovering over the Marshall Islands hospital, gently descending and asking to speak to Dr. Bertinelli. They had managed to get the first ten sick people to Gotham by flying an ambulance through the air at full speed.

Part of the medical team led by Dr. Bertinelli and a priest came to say goodbye and thank her for her help. Superwoman bowed her head before them in humility. Dr. Bertinelli was a young, serious woman with a Mediterranean air, few words, and a cold way of expressing her indignation. There was something about her that reminded Superwoman of Louis.

"Dr. Bertinelli, would you like me to take you back to Gotham? I can take you and your luggage."

"I'll be staying a few more days, and I already have my boat ticket. Besides, I have little to contribute now. The Regina Dozier has the best specialists..."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Dr. Bertinelli sighed.

"Nothing, Mrs. El, you've already done a lot... But maybe I could ask you one thing."

"Tell me."

"If you ever give a speech at the UN again, mention us. Tell all those diplomatic penguins what nuclear weapons testing does."

Superwoman nodded.

"I will, don't think I'm sympathetic to these methods."

"What about the "American Way"?"

"I wish it didn't include these kinds of actions."

Dr. Bertinelli smiled gratefully at her and returned with the rest of the medical team.

Well...up, up and away!

Superwoman lost herself in the sky, rising into the stratosphere. The world rolled away at her feet. She closed her eyes and listened. She was needed on five continents. In an hour and a half, she passed through China, Pakistan, Ethiopia, Egypt, Italy, Ireland, Guinea, Brazil, and finally back to Metropolis. From fires to shootings, from landslides to floods. In Metropolis, she put out a fire in an unoccupied house where several refugee beggars lived, suspiciously close to the orphanage and other buildings that the city council and several developers wanted to demolish. It was still midnight in Metropolis, she would probably have to fly around the world another time or two before she could get an hour's rest.

Superwoman glided gracefully among the towering skyscrapers, reflecting on her day, the individuals she had assisted…Including Ullrich and his brother whom she had successfully reunited with their aunt, the lives she couldn't save during the shooting in Chicago, memories of Louis, and the thankful smile of a teenager she rescued from a typhoon in Indonesia just the day before. Then, suddenly, an intense ultrasonic buzz disrupted her thoughts, originating, as it always did, from the TELCORP Tower. Luthor's corporate skyscraper had become a source of agony for Superwoman, equipped with ultrasonic emitters on each level designed to repel her with their shrill sounds. She could avoid the discomfort by keeping at least half a mile away, but her duties often required her to venture closer. The tower stirred in her a profound animosity. Occasionally, Luthor would increase the intensity of the sound, cautious not to harm the public but eager to irritate her for brief periods each week. This act was his method of provoking her, capturing her attention, and reinforcing their mortal enmity—a designation he had imposed. It also served as his peculiar way of beckoning her.

Feeling anger and sadness, Superwoman flew toward the tower. The sound was terrible. She knew where Luthor's office was. She floated down to it. There the billionaire scientist stood, grinning maliciously, leaning against the glass. As soon as his eyes met hers, Luthor seemed to press a device, and the sounds stopped. With her super-hearing, she could hear the man's words.

"Good evening, Kala-El."

"Luthor...," Superwoman spoke loudly and authoritatively so that Luthor could hear her on the other side of the glass.

"How was your day ruling over mortals?"

"I don't rule anyone."

"No? Deciding who lives and who dies... who sleeps in a dungeon and who doesn't... is a lot like ruling."

Superwoman looked at him sadly. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Because I love humanity."

"At times, I worry that those among you who profess a broad and abstract affection for numerous grand things may, in reality, harbor more hate than love within."

"What do you know of hate and love? You are not one of us."

Clara thought back to her day, to all the people she had tried to help, her friends, her mother, the memory of her father, Louis and Emily....

"I think I know more than you ever will, Luthor."

Clara smiled to herself, feeling hopeful, and flew towards the starry firmament, not listening to Luthor's reply as he turned the ultrasound back on.

How did Clara Kent/Superwoman live in 1948?

Weekly Income as Assistant Reporter: 52$ (2,750$ annually or 32,000$ adjusted by inflation in 2023)

Weekly rent of a 650 sq.ft 1 room-1 bathroom studio in East 102 street in Manhattan: 20$ (1,100$ annually or 12,800$ adjusted)

Total savings after three years working in Metropolis: 825$ (9,600$ adjusted)

Horn-rimmed eyeglasses: 8$(93$ adjusted)

Full office suit: 30$ (349$ adjusted)

Personal typing machine: 72$ (838$ adjusted)

Monthly costs of a dog: 12$ (140$ adjusted)

Monthly subway and bus tickets: 3.5$ (41$ adjusted)

Weekly shopping, one person: 4.7$ (55$ adjusted)

2-way train and bus ticket from Metropolis to Smallville (North Kansas): 45$ (525$ adjusted)

1 vinyl record of Glen Miller Orchestra: 1$ (12$ adjusted)

1 cinema ticket to watch Alfred Hitchcock's "The Rope": 0.4$ (5$ adjusted)

1 ticket for a night show in Radio City Music Hall: 2$ (23$ adjusted)

1 hardcover book, "Under the Volcano" as a gift for Louis: 1.5$ (17$ adjusted)

A LETTER FROM CLARA TO LOUIS

September [Crossed-out]/ October 1947

My dearest Louis, It's nearing two years since...I've penned countless letters you've yet to discover...since I embraced what I believe to be my duty. I'm writing now, unsure if these words will ever find you, compelled by a need to sort through my thoughts. It's a quest for self-understanding, hoping that, in time, you might grasp the essence of me. There are moments when I scarcely recognize the woman in photographs, or the heroic murals painted in the streets. At times, a profound melancholy engulfs me, alongside a yearning to simply be Clara Kent. Yet, I am acutely aware of the sacrifices my duty entails, uncertain of when I may fulfill it. To ignore the talents bestowed upon me by God, or to withhold the aid I can offer to others, would be unjust. By the love I bear for you and my parents, I do not consider myself superior to anyone. However, I am convinced that my abilities can be of service. Just that. There was a period when I viewed these powers as a curse, but it would be dishonest to claim I don't revel in the role of Superwoman, despite my aversion to the moniker they've assigned to me.

I cherish the opportunity to aid others, the thrill of flight, and even the power of super-strength. Yet, there are moments when I find it burdensome. Sometimes, I feel like a child harboring a delightful secret that must remain hidden, and I find myself blushing whenever the topic of Superwoman arises in conversations. There are times when pain seeps in as I listen to you on the radio or read your words in the newspaper, portraying me as a non-human entity, unpredictable and unworthy of trust. Your perspective is not lost on me; I might share the same view if our roles were reversed. Indeed, there was a time when I viewed myself through a similar lens. However, it's unfair for you to see me that way. Every day, you're sitting right in front of me. I'm honest with you about everything, presenting myself exactly as I am, with two exceptions: my role as Superwoman and my deep love for you. I fear the misconception that I might be someone I'm not. Finding the right moment to reveal the truth seems impossible, and sometimes, I wonder if it's better left unsaid. It's a challenging balance. I manage merely an hour of sleep daily, Louis, and spend much of my time soaring back and forth across the sky. It's a kind of madness, perhaps a beautiful one. I don't want to give it up, yet part of me wishes for a life without such burdens. This contradiction is mine to bear, hoping someday you'll grasp it. And maybe, one day, you'll open up to me too. We women sense these things, perhaps I even more so. I notice your glances, the way your smile lingers after our disagreements. Your inventive excuses just to spend an afternoon together or share a meal. I see through you. In many ways.

I understand the complexities of your marriage, your values, and your daughter. Your marriage exists in name only, a fact we're both aware of, just as your wife lives her life independently. Occasionally, it seems there isn't much of a way out of your dilemma, just as there isn't much of a way out of mine, despite the vast differences between them. And I appreciate that you are honest in your own way. Other men wouldn't have a problem with a double life, they would take me as a lover without hesitating. While I could come to terms with that, I find joy and an even greater love for you in your decision not to pursue such a path, adhering instead to a set of morals that I might not fully subscribe to, especially when so many others vocally committed to these ideals fall short in their daily lives.

I'm clinging to the hope for a miracle, a miracle of understanding between us. Perhaps such a miracle is elusive, and we're destined to remain forever intertwined as dear friends and confidants, which seems a bitter twist of fate. Maybe my thoughts are naïve. The world teeters on the edge of destruction, with looming threats of war, dangers from Luthor and others, and the recent brush with obliteration at the hands of Zod just eighteen months prior. When I reflect on the global turmoil and my own responsibilities, our adventures, yours and mine, chaste adventures confined to the spaces between office desks and a restaurant's corner, feel all too fleeting, and it strikes me as profoundly unjust. How can I expect you to understand me when I'm still grappling with my own identity? Yet, you grasp the concept of duty to others, of our purpose here to "love thy neighbor as thyself." Perhaps that shared comprehension is the foundation upon which you might come to understand the purpose behind my choice to don the red cape.

Clara K.

AN ARTICLE FROM 1947

Louis Lane's Provocative Radio Talk Challenges Public's Blind Trust in Superwoman

On yesterday's radio broadcast of "All Voices" on KBBL, Major Louis J. Lane, the renowned journalist from the Daily Planet, took a bold stance against the growing admiration for Superwoman. In his weekly talk, Lane, who was the first reporter to interview the superheroine in October 1945, stunned listeners with his sharp criticism. While millions around the world view the Kryptonian heroine as a beacon of hope, Lane argued that her unchecked power could pose a potential threat to humanity. He warned that society is placing too much trust in a single extraterrestrial being, without considering the possible consequences.

Lane's critique was clear: despite her good deeds, Superwoman remains an alien with powers far beyond ordinary humans, raising profound questions about responsibility, power, and trust. He suggested that the near-religious reverence for Superwoman could undermine democratic values by encouraging faith in a single extraordinary figure to solve humanity's problems, instead of relying on collective human action.

LANE SPARKS DIVISION

While he is not the first pundit worried about the Woman of Steel's powers, Lane's scathing remarks have sparked a political and social firestorm. Conservative Senator Robert Taft (R-OH), a staunch advocate for constitutional limitations on government, praised Lane's warning as "a necessary and courageous assessment of the risks posed by elevating any being to god-like status." Interestingly, Lane's speech also found unexpected support from the left. Former Vice President Henry A. Wallace, often regarded as a liberal icon, remarked earlier today, "While I may disagree with Mr. Lane on many things, his analysis of the Superwoman issue is spot-on. He raises the questions that citizens must ask about unchecked power."

However, not all reactions have been favorable. Supporters of Superwoman, including millions of ordinary citizens who see her as a protector and symbol of hope, quickly condemned Lane's comments. Many argued that his critique unfairly paints Superwoman as a potential tyrant, ignoring the countless lives she has saved and her consistently benevolent behavior.

"Superwoman is a symbol of what we can aspire to," declared Metropolis Mayor Perry O'Connell. "Her actions speak for themselves: she has never abused her power. To suggest otherwise is not only insulting to her but to the people whose lives she has improved."

Across the nation, radio stations and newspapers have been flooded with letters both in defense of and against Lane's statements. Some claim Lane's words are rooted in xenophobia, while others argue they represent a necessary challenge to an increasingly complacent public.

Even the entertainment industry, long a celebrant of Superwoman's feats, harshly criticized Lane's declarations. Actress Katharine Hepburn quipped in the Metropolis Times, "It's disappointing that in an era where women are finally showing their strength, men like Louis Lane insist on tearing us down, even if we're from another planet." Prominent journalists also disagreed with Lane's portrayal. Diana Trent, a columnist for The Daily Tribune, accused him of stoking fear and cynicism: "Lane's rhetoric plays on humanity's worst instincts. The fact that she is an alien doesn't make her our enemy. If anything, her actions show she embodies the best of humanity: courage, compassion, and selflessness."

Superwoman herself has remained silent on the matter, continuing her crime-fighting efforts and humanitarian activities. It remains to be seen whether she will address the controversy, but for now, the nation is embroiled in a heated debate: Are we safer with Superwoman, or are we risking too much by placing so much power in her hands?

EXCERPTS FROM MAJOR LOUIS J. LANE'S SPEECH ON KBBL'S "ALL VOICES"

"Ladies and gentlemen, we live in an age where the worship of a single individual has reached extraordinary heights. Superwoman, the extraterrestrial from the planet Krypton, possesses abilities that surpass the imagination of our ancestors. She flies, bends steel, sees through walls with those eyes that can also shoot fire… But in our rush to idolize her, have we forgotten something fundamental?" What does our reverence for this 'super being' say about us as a people? Americans, since our Revolution, have cherished freedom from tyranny, the right to self-government. By elevating a single person, who isn't even human, to an almost divine status, we are playing with the very spirit of democracy and liberty.

The great historian Lord Acton once said, 'Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.' Have we forgotten this timeless truth in our blind worship of this alien force? What checks and balances does Superwoman answer to? She is not subject to our Constitution, our institutions, or the rules that govern men. There is no law she cannot break, no building she cannot tear down. Should we not be concerned that we have allowed ourselves to revere this being of limitless powers as though she were a deity?"

(...)

"It is not my intent to cast doubt upon the incredibly heroic and selfless actions of the Maid of Might, or the Woman of Tomorrow, as she is known by many. I have personally benefited from her remarkable abilities and her absolute dedication to others. The question we must ask ourselves, as citizens of a democratic country, is whether we can afford to surrender a portion of our freedom and allow a blind spot where a marvelous being can act as she sees fit."

(...)

"Ladies and gentlemen, the history of mankind has shown that even the most just leaders, when endowed with unchecked authority, have inevitably succumbed to tyranny. Superwoman's great power, combined with the awe we feel for her, places us on that precipice. We must remain vigilant, not blinded by her feats, and ensure that America remains a nation of laws, not a nation of gods."

HOW DOES SHE DO IT?

Superwoman! The Woman of Steel! The amazing stranger from the planet Krypton! Known worldwide for her iconic red cape, blue supersuit, and that famous "S" on her chest! But have you ever wondered about the secrets of her supersuit? And how does Superwoman juggle her dual life as intrepid reporter Clara Kent while always being on call to save the day? First off, that "S" symbol isn't an "S" at all! It's actually an ancient Kryptonian ideogram that stands for "Hope" and represents the coat of arms of the House of El, Superwoman's family. As the last member of this noble lineage, Kala-El, a.k.a. Superwoman, carries this symbol with pride and honor.

Superwoman's supersuit is more than just a costume; it's a piece of history! This ceremonial garment, several hundred years old, was once worn by Kala-El's great-grandmother, Jul-El, a revolutionary who sought to end the caste system on Krypton. Crafted from Mer'ik, a metallic polymer unique to Krypton, this synthetic material is as thin as a whisper yet incredibly strong and dense. It even maintains the body temperature of the wearer, offering nearly perfect protection. Originally used for grand ceremonies, travel, and military actions, this supersuit became a treasured family heirloom. When Jor-El and Lara sent Kala to Earth, they included this remarkable garment in her pod, symbolizing her noble lineage and the legacy she carries. For Superwoman, it's a connection to her Kryptonian roots and serves as an almost indestructible action uniform. Plus, it's as comfortable as silk, easily foldable, and fits like a second skin.

When it's time for Superwoman to switch back to Clara Kent, she's got a nifty trick! She simply folds up her sleeves and tights as far as her everyday clothes will hide them. The material is so incredibly thin that it can be folded repeatedly without creating any bulges. Superwoman's red "boots" are actually just the lower part of her tights, extending from her feet to her knees, which she cleverly hides under her shoes or folds up under her skirt. And that iconic long, bright red cape? Superwoman just folds it up and tucks it behind her back and under her skirt. Thanks to the adaptive properties of the material, it stays neatly folded in place until she needs to spring back into action. It's the perfect blend of Kryptonian tech and everyday convenience!

Thanks to the lightness and adaptability of the Mer'ik material, Superwoman can wear her everyday reporter's clothes seamlessly over her supersuit and cape without any bulges or discomfort. When Clara Kent opts for short or low-cut dresses, she wraps the entire supersuit around her belly, keeping it well-hidden yet ready to be deployed in an instant. Clara usually hides her civilian clothes and round glasses at her transformation spot. But if she has to transform outdoors, she carries a carefully folded bag in her purse. After transforming, she puts all her everyday clothes and her purse in the bag and leaves it in a secure or camouflaged place. This way, Clara can always ensure her secret identity remains hidden and her belongings stay safe, no matter where duty calls.

With her hair up and the thick round eyeglasses she's worn since childhood to hide her heat and x-ray vision, Clara Kent blends in perfectly. She speaks freely with her natural Kansas accent, a stark contrast to the solemn, neutral English accent she adopts as Superwoman. This clever disguise keeps everyone from realizing that Clara Kent and Superwoman are the same person. Always ready to change in a split second, she can swiftly fly wherever she is needed, her true identity remaining a well-guarded secret!